


Home.

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yoongi gets dragged out by his well-meaning friends, and ends up with a pleasant surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this fic has been worked on off and on for like. two weeks. i'm sick of looking at it, and i'm sure there are a lot of style inconsistencies; please bear with me. 
> 
> in which min yoongi gets dragged to a club, hooks up with a guy who is basically perfect, and spends the next year settling into him like he's coming home.

Yoongi told himself over and over that he was never going to get into that kind of relationship again. That it was toxic, that he was being taken advantage of, that he didn't want to be at anyone's mercy like that. He hated it, hated depending so much on someone else, hated needing their approval, _wanting_ it. It made his chest ache still, just thinking about the damage, the havoc it had wreaked on his life when it was over. The cost had been too much, no matter how good it had seemed... At the time.

He chewed his lip and sat on his couch, raked his hands through his dark hair and growled in frustration. Seokjin had called a couple of hours ago, murmured that he wanted Yoongi to come out with him and Namjoon to a club that evening, but the idea of third-wheeling the happiest couple he knew was not Yoongi's idea of a good time. Especially not a couple that had the relationship Yoongi craved, where the lines between the bedroom practices and real life practices blended so sweetly. It wasn't fair. Yoongi had been the one to set them up, to introduce them, and four years later they were so happy it was vile, and Yoongi was bitter and depressed and _alone._

But Seokjin had asked so sweetly and Yoongi hadn't seen them in a few weeks. He knew Seokjin was probably worried about him, especially now that it as so close to Christmas and he didn't want Yoongi to be alone too much. They'd been best friends for a long time. He knew Seokjin had his best interests at heart despite his quiet pushiness.

So he'd agreed, naturally. He'd dressed smartly and put on a loose necklace that hung at his chest, fingered pomade through his hair and made sure his eyeliner was perfectly winged. He'd seen himself in the mirror, on the way to the living room. He looked fucking incredible and he knew it.

He heaved a sigh and got up, grabbed for his bag. Seokjin would fuss if he was late and he didn't want him to worry _too_ much. He'd done more than enough worrying about Yoongi in the past year. He didn't need to do any more.

With one more glance at himself, Yoongi headed out of his apartment, locking the door behind himself. By the time he got to the doors heading outside, Namjoon and Seokjin would be in the parking lot in their BMW, music threading through the speakers.

~

The club was... Well. It was everything Yoongi remembered. He let Seokjin hold his hand as they went inside, hung their jackets in coat check and walked into the club proper where the low, hot music was pulsing and the employees were walking about grinning like the demons Yoongi knew they probably were. Then he realized what was happening on the far side of the room and a well of fury bubbled up his throat.

“What the _fuck--_ ”

“It's just for tonight, Yoongi,” Seokjin murmured, not letting go of his hand so he could stalk out and _walk home_ because he was about to. “We just thought you might want...”

“Want what, company? Sex? God damn it, Seokjin if I wanted those things I'd get them myself--”

“No you wouldn't,” Namjoon murmured, and Yoongi snarled, trying to jerk his arm out of Seokjin's grip. His hand stayed tight and Namjoon's joined it.

“Let go of me. Let _go._ I'm going home, you let go of me right fucking now, Kim Namjoon--”

Namjoon grabbed him by the chin, eyes dark. “You do not address me that way in public.”

“You're not my _master,_ you arrogant prick,” Yoongi hissed, and it was only Seokjin's sound of distress that made him back down, because he'd already worried him enough, because he was already so concerned for Yoongi's wellbeing and he _probably_ thought the two of them were helping. It was so Seokjin: take time to recover from the trauma, then resubmit yourself to said trauma in order to build up a resistance, a tolerance. Of course Seokjin would have thought this was a good idea. Of course Namjoon would have gone along with it.

Against his better judgement, Yoongi took two deep breaths and cracked his neck, let the tension roll out of his shoulders. “I fucking hate both of you,” he said, and Seokjin smiled prettily at him, led him slowly to registration. Events like this one were generally planned and signed up for in advance, though late-comers could register at the event, as “free subs” or some other demeaning slang term. It just meant they could be played with in scene, and as long as the clubs rules were obeyed, no harm no foul.

Seokjin walked him through the entire process until he got to the room where he would be properly geared. Seokjin filled out his placard (while Yoongi nearly cringed in embarrassment because _why_ did Seokjin know all those things about him—oh, right) and smoothed back his hair, kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” he said gently, and Yoongi sighed, looking down at the sheer shirt Seokjin wore, the leather and chain chest piece beneath it. He always dressed so well. Seokjin looked beautiful as he always did, and something in his own chest pinched tightly. The two of them were so beautiful, and he was so toxically, hatefully jealous.

“You're welcome,” he murmured, and Seokjin kissed him one more time.

“You'll have a good time. And Namjoon said he'd bring us home when you were finished, so just come find us. Or have someone come and find us.”

Yoongi nodded and let himself be led away to a back room where he was patiently and courteously stripped, prepared and dressed in leather and chains, a blindfold to hide his eyes. He felt very helpless, and that was probably the point; but he still sort of hated the thrill that raced along his thighs, up his back, as he was laid out on the tattooing? Chair and readied for... Whoever read the placard on the door and decided he was worth a go.

 

_Min Sugar; 25; Male, 5'8”, 120lbs._

_Likes: Praise, pain, light bloodplay, aftercare._

_Dislikes: humiliation, orgasm denial._

 

It was nervewracking. He had no idea how long he'd been laying there, his hands buckled up to a spreader bar hooked around the chair but it was long enough that he'd started to doze. He tensed when he heard the door open, then close again, the lock being slipped into place.

“Well look at you,” came a low, masculine voice. Yoongi shuddered and swallowed hard. “Laying there all dressed up like a present. Very nice.” Fingertips touched his knee, trailed up his thigh and a hand splayed over his belly, his well-toned (though not defined, damn his body and it's unwillingness to build muscle) abdominals he worked very hard to maintain. “And clearly you take very good care of yourself, mm? Answer me.”

“Yes,” Yoongi said, “Yes, I do.”

“I can see that,” the man hummed, the fingers trailing up Yoongi's chest, smoothing over a pierced nipple. “A very good boy, taking care of himself so well. Very impressive.”

Fuck.

Yoongi felt his groin tighten. It was so dangerous, this. It was so fucking dangerous, but the man was bending over him, placing sucking kisses over his neck and he strained upward, back tense.

“Good boys get rewarded, don't they?” the man asked, moving away. Yoongi heard scraping, rolling, quivered when his legs were pushed up and buckled into a second spreader bar. They were parted wide, his knees at either side of his torso, a pleasant pull of his muscles. He was absolutely prone, helpless. He couldn't really feel himself shivering, though he knew he was doing it. “Good, beautiful boys who please their masters are rewarded. And you are so beautiful.”

Yoongi had discovered this... Kink. Accidentally, when he and Seokjin were still living together, and experimenting with one another to figure out more about themselves and their preferred lifestyle. Seokjin could cum practically on command even then and one night, after Yoongi had sucked his cock for almost a half-hour, he'd breathed out, _such a good boy_ and Yoongi's entire world tilted.

The praise made him hot, made him flush, made him shake his head but Seokjin's tiny little voice kept murmuring and Yoongi had cum underneath him, trembling, with just two of Seokjin's fingers rubbing lightly against the crown of his dick. He'd been so embarrassed, but Seokjin had licked his stomach and smiled, kissed his nipples and then his mouth, murmured a soft, _that's so hot_ against his lips and, well.

Here he was.

(to be fair, it did the same thing to Seokjin. though perhaps he was even more sensitive: the praise didn't have to be sexual in nature and it happened to him _all the time._ in public. he had to wear a cage when they went out because people wouldn't shut up about how beautiful he was and it had become a fucking _problem_ when Yoongi had to get him off in a subway station bathroom.)

Now there was a stranger's hand between his legs, a stranger's fingers against his lips, speaking softly. “I'm told you're very obedient,” he said, and Yoongi opened his mouth as though to speak. “I want you to show me. Suck my fingers, sweet boy,” and Yoongi let his tongue sit on his lip, let two slim, well-manicured fingers slide over his tongue to the sound of an approving hum. The skin tasted vaguely like a sweet hand lotion, peach? “Mmm. A little harder now. Show me... How you would suck me if I let you taste my cock.”

Yoongi squirmed, the hand cupped over his balls was so much of a teasing pressure, the fingertips on his tongue made his eyes roll closed and he sucked, suckled, bobbed his head and licked his way to the knuckle, his chin pressing against palm. “There's a good boy,” the man purred, and Yoongi felt a blush of heat roll over him. “Now. I want you to show me how good you are at following directions, pet. Touch yourself for me, like you do when you're alone, in your bed. When you wake up so hard it hurts, show me.”

Yoongi's right hand was unbuckled from the spreader bar and he hesitantly dropped it between his legs. It was a bit numb, but he knew the feeling of touching the insides of his thighs, the soft skin of his belly very well. When his fingers were no longer prickling, he hooked his thumb around his shaft and let his fingers pat against his balls, a soft slap, harder the second time, harder still the third. He distantly heard an approving chuckle. “You like it when it hurts, sweet boy?”

“Yes,” Yoongi panted, his tongue still occupied with the fingers in his mouth.

“Shall I cane you? How many strikes can you give me, or should you not say.”

“Please, not-- switch, not cane--”

“Aah, because the cane leaves bruises,” the man said thoughtfully. “And the switch leaves welts. Do you like to bleed my sweet boy? Will you bleed for me?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Yoongi whimpered, wrapping his hand around his length and pumping slowly.

“Faster,” the man murmured, his lips close to Yoongi's nipple. He must have been watching; Yoongi felt hair tickling his skin as his hand tightened, moved more quickly. “Stop.”

He froze, breath caught. There was a chuckle at his nipple. “Go.”

The torment was beautiful. Five times, _five,_ Yoongi was forced to the edge and held there, shaking, squirming wretchedly, trembling as he was kissed on the mouth, “You're so good, doing exactly as I say. So good, so good and so beautiful, Sugar.”

Sugar.

It was the name Yoongi went by, before he was in a monogamous relationship. Seokjin must have written it on the placard, along with all the other information this man was taking advantage of. He liked pain, he liked to bleed, he lived to be praised. Yoongi couldn't find it in himself to be irritated by the name being used. It felt safe, his real name being a secret. It was all too good and he was glad Seokjin knew him so well, glad that this man had taken the time to pay attention to what was on the placard instead of coming into the room and doing whatever he chose. That was damned considerate of him.

“I'm going to use the switch on you,” the man murmured, and Yoongi felt the limber stick being traced over his thighs. “On the fifteenth strike, I want you to cum. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Yes what.”

“Yes sir.”

“There's a good boy. Count for me.”

The switch came down hard, dangerously close to Yoongi's groin. He yelped out his _one,_ body arching as much as it was able, considering the position he was in. The second struck his shaft with the tip of the switch and he gritted his teeth, _two,_ and the man in front of him purred softly.

“Ooh, there's a good boy now, yes. Keep counting, pet.”

Yoongi nearly sobbed his way through the next strikes; he swore he could _feel_ blood welling on the insides of his thighs, could feel his balls pulling tight and his cock twitching dangerously and when that last strike whipped across his ballsac he wailed like a bitch in heat and came in a thick splatter, panting, shaking, crying from overstimulation and emotional exhaustion.

“Thank you,” he panted struggling to keep fully conscious. “Thank you sir, thank you, thank you.”

“Shh, shh now,” the man murmured, his hands soft on Yoongi's thighs as he reached up to unbuckle his knees, letting his legs fall to either side of the chair. Yoongi was still held there by one hand, the other pulling at the undone buckle it had been released from. “Shh, there's my good boy, beautiful boy, you did so well, so wonderful.” Yoongi sobbed against the kiss he was given, the cool hands cupping his throat as he felt hardness against him, through soft cloth.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, please.”

“Please what, sweet,” he asked, kissing Yoongi's hairline. “Do you want more? Want me to take you? _Claim_ you? Own your beautiful body, and keep you?”

“Yes,” Yoongi said, groaning when the man drew up his body and breathed near his ear, biting it. “Yes please.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He pulled away and Yoongi trembled, felt his legs being parted, then lifted, slim fingers working between his cheeks to toy with the plug he'd been fitted with when he was strapped down. It was a precaution, more than anything. Some people got too excited to remember the proper preparations, though it seemed the Master was more than willing to take his time. He kissed Yoongi's bloodied inner thighs, sucked tenderly at his oversensitive sac and shaft as the plug was replaced with fingers, two, three. Yoongi wanted to die, it was so good. He was floating away. God this was so dangerous he was _floating away._

“All right my sweet boy, wonderful boy,” Yoongi mewled at the bite to his neck and opened his legs so far his hips popped, his back arching away from the chair. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and then sighed in contentedness as the man between his legs moved closer and pushed inside, buried himself in one strong, slow thrust.

And Yoongi?

Yoongi was _gone._

He felt the touches from very far away, heard the voice _good boy, my good boy you're doing so well, you're so good for me._ He felt the brief rake of nails over his nipples and chest, heard himself shriek out a _yes_ when the Master's tongue teased at the wounds while he fucked him, god did he _fuck_ him. Slow, deep, hard, Yoongi felt like he was tearing apart at the seams and wondered why he'd ever stopped doing this, why he'd ever stopped giving himself to someone else when he loved it so much, had always loved it and likely always would.

(because it hurt, because he'd been taken advantage of, because he came home from a day with Seokjin to an empty apartment and the keys to the collar he'd been wearing for almost two years sitting on the kitchen counter.)

Yoongi couldn't really figure out anything else that happened. The man must have cum, because eventually he was climbing off of Yoongi, littering his skin with kisses, murmuring sweetly into his ear as he got him down from the chair and led him to a tiled bathroom, where he sat him down on the edge of a tub and tipped the sippy-lid of a bottle against his lips.

“Drink, sweet,” he said, and Yoongi did, sucking obediently, little swallows of gatorade until he felt less like he was shaking apart and possibly turning into a prune. “Good, that's very good. How do you feel?”

“...Tired,” he answered, eyes still closed beneath his blindfold.

“Well. Let's get you cleaned up and then you can rest, all right? You don't want to sleep with this mess all over you.”

Mess? Oh. Blood. Lube, spit, sweat. Yoongi leaned heavily into the Master's shoulders before he was being let down into a tub, the warm water stinging the wounds on his thighs. Careful hands washed him clean, reached for the bandana with just a touch of hesitation that confused Yoongi.

“I'm going to take this off,” he said, and Yoongi nodded. He knew he would look a mess, eyeliner and eyeshadow smeared like a line across his eyes, which were surely swollen from crying. The Master's fingers were delicate there, too, and Yoongi sighed happily at soft kisses to his browbone, his eyelids.

“What, pet,” the man asked, carefully helping Yoongi up and out of the water to towel him off. His eyes were still closed.

“I like this best,” he whispered.

“What.”

“...Being taken care of.”

The Master went still, where he was holding Yoongi in his arms. “...You should always be taken care of, sweet boy,” he murmured, leading Yoongi to the small bed on the far side of the room. He helped him down into it and Yoongi didn't open his eyes, didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want it to end.

“Sleep now,” he murmured, and Yoongi whimpered.

“Don't go,” he said, and the Master hesitated.

“I must go, darling boy. I cannot stay.”

“Please.”

“I cannot,” he murmured, and Yoongi felt himself starting to cry. His tears were kissed, his cheeks caressed. “But know that I am so very, very proud of you, my beautiful boy. You did so very, very well.”

“Please,” Yoongi's voice broke, but when he finally managed to open his eyes all he saw was the broad shoulders of a man in a white shirt leaving the room.

~

Seokjin let himself into the room only after he saw someone leave to approach Namjoon. He waited long enough to be sure he wasn't coming back and then made his way down, opened the door and stepped inside. The room smelled lightly of sex, and Yoongi was laying on the provided bed, wrapped in sheets and trembling.

“Yoongiyah,” he said, his low voice shaking. “Yoongi?” A flash of fear raced cold down his back. If he'd-- if something had _happened,_ if Yoongi was _hurt--_

“M'fine, Jinah,” Yoongi rasped, and Seokjin climbed up onto the bed to cradle him, to feel his unbroken skin. There was no blood, not on his chest or on his thighs, though there were bruises on his hips and wrists. His eyes were swollen and his lips were raw as Seokjin kissed him, chastely kissed his mouth and cheeks and hairline while Yoongi settled against him, resigned in some way.

“I'm sorry,” Seokjin said. “I'm sorry, I just thought... I just.”

“It's fine,” Yoongi murmured, pressing his face into Seokjin's chest. “It was good.”

“Not good enough,” Seokjin said, combing Yoongi's dark hair with his fingers. It wasn't a question, not really, but Yoongi answered anyway.

“...No,” he admitted. “Because it wasn't real.”

Yoongi didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to. Seokjin felt his best friends entire world start to shatter and struggled to hold it together in his bleeding fingers. He couldn't let Yoongi fall apart again.

~

The problem with a relationship that had been founded around BDSM elements was that the line between bedroom and _real life_ was sometimes very stark. Seokjin and Namjoon had, after a few months of carefully toeing that line, managed to make the two elements blend. They spoke frankly, though their egos clashed often, and somehow the two of them butting heads turned into the two of them melting together, the communication that passed between them a learned thing. Yoongi could remember then they first met; Seokjin was exuberant and excitable, Namjoon sullen and introverted to the point of silence. And maybe it was just Seokjin's stubbornness, his refusal to give up, that had allowed him to squirm through all of Namjoon's carefully constructed walls and facades to find him underneath; Namjoon challenged him, made him work towards goals, adored him utterly. Maybe it was Seokjin, raised with so much love he could barely contain it, who had managed to urge Namjoon to really... Be with him.

But then again maybe it was Namjoon, who saw through all of Seokjin's rose-colored lies to see him as he was: an insecure, anxious young man, who wanted to please and be pleased but most, wanted to be able to love and take care of someone. Their life together had very little to do with sex. Yoongi knew that Namjoon was, most of the time, humoring Seokjin when he let Seokjin bathe him or feed him or cradle his body after a long day. It wasn't that Namjoon needed those things, only that he enjoyed letting Seokjin do them, and Seokjin... Enjoyed doing them. Seokjin had an easier time reading Namjoon, than Namjoon had reading him. If Yoongi hadn't been so close to it, he would have thought it comical. His best friends, the Odd Couple.

He knew that most outsiders thought the control in a relationship rested with the Dominant, and it was an easy mistake to make, but the fact of the matter was that in a good, _functional_ relationship, all of the power was with the Submissive. The power to make something start, or stop. The power to break down the walls a Dominant hid behind, the power to make _themselves_ vulnerable so that their partner would understand it was all right for them to be vulnerable, too. A Submissive and a Dominant had to work together to make their relationship work and somehow... Namjoon and Seokjin had managed it. Been managing it for years.

Yoongi was jealous, incredibly. His own relationship, before it had been abandoned, had never been quite so subtly woven together. The trust had been limited to sex and scenes and even then it hadn't been... Healthy. The bedroom life had been the bedroom life, and outside of that there was little for him to glean from the relationship.

It wasn't as though he wanted to be led around by a leash all day. That was too much for him. He was a respected and well-liked professional in the office he worked at, he had a life outside of the bedroom but he was willing to work. He was willing to _try,_ at the very least. He would have taken challenges, he would have followed orders, he would have done... Anything. To keep the approval of the man he'd been with and in the end, that was probably why he left. Because Yoongi would break himself trying to bend; or maybe by that time he already had.

Yoongi's bed was large and warm as he laid there, staring out over the bedroom with disinterest. He'd called in ill to the office, unwilling to be around other people, much less his coworkers, all of whom liked him for his easy-going and firm, friendly manners. He couldn't be friendly, that day.

He spend a good deal of the morning staring out into the room, one arm braced over a pillow. He didn't want to get up. Getting up would mean that the day was moving and he wasn't ready for that. He just wanted to sleep, to stay curled up, to be left alone. But that proved to be impossible: around noon, Namjoon's distinctive knock hit the door and if Yoongi didn't get up to answer it, Namjoon would let himself in. So he dragged his body out of bed and sighed, pushing back his messy hair as he went to open the front door, still wearing his pajamas and looking a right mess.

“What,” he asked, opening the door and standing in the way to make sure Namjoon wouldn't bully his way inside without permission. He'd only done it once, out of pure excitement, but it had still upset Yoongi and thus hadn't happened since.

“I brought lunch,” Namjoon offered, holding up a bag of vietnamese and smiling gently. “I thought you might be home today.”

“Where's Seokjin?”

“At work,” Namjoon replied. “We finished the project early, so we all got out, I just thought...” Namjoon hesitated and his brow did that _furrowing_ thing, like when he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to get it out of his big mouth. “I just thought you might want to... Talk about it.”

“About what,” Yoongi asked, as he walked away from the door and into the kitchen to start coffee, Namjoon following soon after.

“About Saturday.”

“What about it.”

“Yoongi.”

Yoongi turned around to look at Namjoon, standing there in his skinnies and blazer, with his tan skin and dark hair. He was devastatingly handsome, and if the two of them had ever gotten on better, Yoongi would have been into him, but as it was Namjoon was stubborn, straightlaced, and impossible, so Yoongi had never tried. But sometimes—especially within this last year—Namjoon would come over and Yoongi... Yoongi was weak. He was lonely, and weak, and shit he was welling up fuck--

Yoongi reached up to rub at his eyes but then Namjoon was standing directly in front of him and guiding his head down onto one shoulder, arms coming around to hug him tightly. Yoongi sometimes forgot that Namjoon loved him too—had loved him for a very long time before he'd even been introduced to Seokjin, and he felt himself hiccup, biting back the noise so his chest just jumped.

“Oh, oh Yoongiyah,” Namjoon said, rubbing his back. “Yoongiyah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” It should have been insulting, being called _Yoongiyah_ by someone two years younger than him, but Yoongi couldn't make himself be angry about it. Namjoon had been the one to come in and retrieve Yoongi and Seokjin from the play room, had been the one to get Yoongi re-dressed and lead him out to the car, tuck him in safe at home. Namjoon was a poor substitute for what Yoongi craved in a relationship, but he fulfilled other needs that Yoongi generally hated to acknowledge.

Like the need to sit in someone's lap and cry about how unfair it all was, still. How Yoongi had given so much of himself and been left with nothing, given nothing in return. It was unfair that he was afraid, it was unfair he was so alone.

Namjoon hummed tunelessly under his breath, cradling Yoongi across his lap in the large chair in the living room. It was an awkward position, but Yoongi didn't feel up to moving and he wasn't sure Namjoon would have let him, even if he did.

“I'm so,” Yoongi started, and Namjoon smoothed his hair. “I'm so fucking _alone._ I want to go  _home._ ”

Namjoon didn't say anything. Yoongi knew that part of this was because Namjoon had worked with at-risk youth for much of his life and he knew not to deny things like that, because Yoongi _felt_ alone. It wasn't that he was literally alone, just that it felt that way, but to make the distinction would invalidate his emotions and that wasn't what Namjoon wanted to do.

It was strange, because the tricks worked even when Yoongi knew they were happening. But if the placebo was what it took to feel like he would be okay, Yoongi would take it; even if the question still itched under his skin,  _where is home, now?_

~

Two hours later, Yoongi felt marginally more human. He'd fussed himself into a pounding headache, which Namjoon had treated with Excedrin, water and careful temple-massage after tucking Yoongi back into bed and laying beside him on top of the covers. He was asleep now, or maybe just dozing, with his arm wrapped over Yoongi's body, holding loosely to his exposed wrist.

“Namjoon?” Yoongi asked, staring out over the room.

“Mm,” he replied.

“Do you know who it was? On Saturday? Do you know his name?”

Namjoon was quiet for too long, so he knew who it was and was trying to figure out what he was going to say.

“I do,” Namjoon replied. “He's... Just getting back into it, after a long time of not participating. He did ask me, before he went to see you.”

“What's he like?” Yoongi asked.

“Silly,” Namjoon said. “He's... Silly, and fun. Emotional, but not to an extreme. He's very full of love. And he was very interested in hearing more about you, other than what your likes and dislikes were.”

“He left,” Yoongi said, and it was only vaguely accusatory.

“Yes, I know. He told me he felt very overwhelmed, and asked if Seokjin would go and check on you, but Seokjin was already... I think Seokjin was in a bit of a panic, honestly. I don't think he knew that I know him.”

“What's his name?” Yoongi almost didn't want to know, but he had to know. _Had_ to. Namjoon was silent for only a moment.

“His name is Kim Taehyung,” he said. “I met him through a support group about two years ago, when he had a huge falling out with his last... Relationship.”

“What happened?”

“It's not really my place to tell you,” Namjoon said. “But I'm sure he will.”

“If I ever see him again.”

“Would you like me to tell him you're interested?”

Yoongi said nothing. Said nothing...

“Yes.”

~

It felt like a blind date, which was ridiculous. Seokjin had come over to help him get dressed, styled his hair and given his eyes a soft burgundy wing, a little gold shine. He'd kissed his cheek and smiled as brightly as he ever did, lifting his fist in a soft _fighting!_ before letting him head down to his car.

Yoongi couldn't help being nervous. He looked incredible, in his skinnies and sweater and huge scarf, but it was five minutes-- seven minutes, past the time when they were supposed to meet and he was getting anxious. He hadn't even gotten Taehyung's number, what if he was being stood up, what if--

“Yoongiyah!”

That voice, so deep and growling two weeks before was bright and high, and Yoongi turned to see a man jogging towards him, a man in black skinnies and a grey peacoat, with a ridiculously neon blue-green-yellow knitted scarf and soft lavender hair too perfect to be real. “Yoongi, I'm so sorry, I got held up at the office but I'm here, here now, I hope you weren't waiting long! I'd have texted you but I don't have your number.”

...This was the same person?

Yoongi wouldn't have believed it, except that he'd seen Namjoon and Seokjin shift into different people right before his very eyes, so it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that this man could become that man, when he wanted.

“Aah,” Yoongi said, smiling because it was impossible not to, when the man was looking at him like that, eyes alight, grin like sunshine. “Ah, it's all right, I haven't been here long. I did give the hostess my name, though, so--”

“So we should go inside and commence with the eating, drinking, and merriment, right?”

Yoongi found himself smiling _again._ “...Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

~

Kim Taehyung was a complete enigma, wrapped in a chatty, smiley package and Yoongi didn't know what to make of him. He was very interested in Yoongi—in his work at his office, in what he did in his spare time, stories about when he was younger. He also gave a lot of information about himself: Kim Taehyung, Marketing Professional, Informational Technology Technician and moonlighting Studier of Erotic and Non-Erotic BDSM Practices, has two cats and a large apartment with two bedrooms and big windows. Kim Taehyung, twenty-two, prodigy with two bachelors degrees and a masters, working on his PHD in... Something Yoongi couldn't hope to understand.

“But anyway! Enough about me, god, I'll talk forever if you don't stop me. Tell me more about you!”

“I already told you most of what there is to know,” Yoongi said, a smile on his lips because he couldn't help it, because Taehyung just... Made him smile. “I'm not really interesting or anything. I don't even have pets.”

“But you have a history,” Taehyung said, and his voice was soft. “And I'd like to know more about it, before I commit to a relationship with you.”

It surprised Yoongi, that he was being asked so bluntly. It was rare for someone to come right out and say something like that. Most of the time they played coy and hard to get, but then again, nothing about Taehyung fit the standards of what he knew so perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised.

“I'm... Not sure I'm comfortable discussing that here,” Yoongi said, looking around the restaurant and trying to recall everything Seokjin had told him about being his own person and being independent and making decisions that were good for him no matter how nervous he was (and he was always nervous. Yoongi could put on a bravado show like no other human on the planet but he was always anxious, his heart always felt like it was going to skip beats and start running without him.)

“Then maybe we can go somewhere else?” Taehyung asked, cocking his head to one side and his hair fell over his eye and _god_ he was devastatingly attractive. It was hard for Yoongi to think with his brain instead of his dick because his dick wanted to just throw himself over the table and get on with it.

“I... I'd like that.” instead of _yes please_ because that was giving control of the situation over to Taehyung and Yoongi didn't want that just yet.

Taehyung paid for dinner (insisted, since he'd been late and all) and offered Yoongi his hand when they stepped outside. Yoongi hesitated for a second, but took it. Taehyung was warm and the cool late-autumn air lost some of it's bite as they walked. “Do you like coffee? There's a nice cafe down here, it's pretty quiet and private.”

“I do like coffee,” Yoongi said. Taehyung walked in pace with him until they reached the place, ordered coffee and light desserts, and went to sit down in a booth not too far from the back where the light was dim. “So...” he started, hands cupped around his mug, but Taehyung beat him to it.

“Two years ago, my last partner left me,” he said. “He wanted more than I could give him. There was a type of attention he wanted and I... Couldn't do it. He refused to work it out with me and... He just left. That's how I met Namjoon, I was... Writing about it online and he offered me some advice on how to cope.”

“Oh,” Yoongi said. “If you don't mind my asking, what...”

“He wanted me to abuse him,” Taehyung said, gaze level. “There were things that he wanted... Violent things that I could never be comfortable with, considering my personal history. He refused to even _attempt_ to work it through with me, chose instead to... To hate me and blame me and leave. I didn't stop him, it was what he wanted, but...” his brow furrowed. “I felt guilty. Responsible. If I'd tried harder, if I'd done as he asked, if I'd loved him enough to do it even though I didn't want to.”

“You shouldn't have to do things you don't want to,” Yoongi said. “That's part of... That's part of the deal.” Taehyung took a sip of his macchiato and nodded, and Yoongi continued. “It's just like any other relationship, right? You have to compromise.”

“I agree,” Taehyung replied. “And I mean I... I tried to get back into, but it always seemed like they wanted something I couldn't give, and I started to feel like it was me, so I stopped.... But Namjoon suggested I come out, the other night, and.”

And he'd met Yoongi, buckled down to that chair.

“...I really enjoyed our time together, Yoongi, I. I thought we had a very good chemistry.”

“Why did you leave?” Yoongi asked, peeking over at Taehyung through his own dark hair. “When we were done, why didn't you stay? I asked you to stay.”

“I was afraid,” Taehyung said simply, flushed. “I hadn't... Not in a long time, felt so good with someone else and I knew Namjoon and his lover were there, so I just... Hoped he'd be able to take care of you while I tried to compose myself. It was wrong of me, I'm sorry.”

“You said...” Yoongi swallowed and his voice dropped. “That you wanted to keep me.”

“I wasn't lying,” Taehyung said. “But would you have believed me? If I'd said it that night, after we'd finished, would you have believed it was the truth, or just that it was my dick talking.”

Yoongi knew what he would have thought, and shook his head. “I wouldn't have believed you.”

“Then,” Taehyung started. “I'm sorry, that I hurt you. But it was always my intention to come back to you, if I was allowed. Like I said, I think we have very good chemistry, Yoongi. Whether it's in there, or...” Taehyung offered one hand out, and Yoongi found himself reaching to hold it. “Or out here.”

~

Yoongi and Taehyung went on several more dates. Dinner, walks, the zoo on one occasion. Yoongi took photos and Taehyung made faces for said photos, the two of them grew closer despite the optical illusion of their incompatibility. Quiet, serious Yoongi and Silly, excitable Taehyung.

Namjoon and Seokjin couldn't keep the smug smiles off their faces when Yoongi told them that he and Taehyung were properly dating.

“Stop making that face at me,” Yoongi grumped as Seokjin kissed his cheek and hugged him around the shoulders. “You're like my mom or something. It's not like he's my prom date.”

“But you like him~” Seokjin chirped, leading Yoongi into the kitchen so the two of them could prepare dinner in peace while Namjoon worked. “You like him a lot, huh.”

“He's...” Yoongi thought about it. Taehyung was strange. Excitable, exuberant, bright and happy. He was attentive and thoughtful and he never assumed anything and yes. Yes, Yoongi liked him a lot. “He makes me really happy.”

“So...” Seokjin paused, standing over the stove. “Why are you hesitating?”

“... _Because_ I like him so much,” Yoongi said, cutting carrots very carefully. “I don't want to mess it up. He's... He's perfect, Seokjin, he's everything I ever wanted, and...” The carrots were starting to blur. “And I don't want to mess it up like I did last time.”

Seokjin didn't say anything about that. It was useless to try and talk Yoongi out of his guilt over what had happened with Kyungwon, he would insist it was his fault until the end of the earth. However...

“Taking a chance with him might be the best, Yoongiyah.”

Yoongi closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. It was true, he knew that. He was just so scared. One wrong move and it would all come down around his ears, again.

~

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Could we go back to your apartment?”

Yoongi felt the surprised look on Taehyung's face more than he saw it. The two of them had just gotten out of a light after-movie dinner and it was late, it was so late, but Yoongi had just asked if they could go back to Taehyung's apartment for the first time since they'd started dating almost four months ago.

“If you'd like to.”

“I would.”

The drive was quiet. Taehyung held Yoongi's hand, unless he was shifting gears, and Yoongi stayed relaxed in the passenger seat. He wanted to go home with Taehyung. There was one more thing he had to check, just one more thing and then he'd be sure, he'd be ready and confident in their chances.

They walked in silence to the elevator, and once inside, Yoongi shifted to let himself rest against Taehyung's chest, face in his neck like they were hugging goodnight on his doorstep. Taehyung clasped his hands lightly around his back and kissed the top of his head, kept him warm. _Aah,_ Yoongi thought to himself. _I could get used to this._

The apartment door opened to two crying siamese cats, who wound around their legs and nearly tripped Taehyung to the floor, as he made his way to feed them. Yoongi laughed, and Taehyung complained— _hyuuung--_ and once the 'ungrateful, spoiled brats' were taken care of, he set about giving Yoongi a tour. Large living room, unnecessarily large bath and kitchen, first bedroom...

The tour ended in _his_ bedroom, and Taehyung hesitated.

Yoongi did not.

He turned to Taehyung and got up on his toes to kiss him, moaning softly when Taehyung gripped him tightly and pulled him closer. “Taehyung,” he breathed when they parted, looking at the sharpness of Taehyung's jaw. “I want...”

“What do you want,” Taehyung asked, his hands in Yoongi's back pockets, holding him close. Just being asked that had Yoongi half hard, _what do you want_ instead of rushing into what Taehyung assumed Yoongi wanted and shit. He really was fucked, wasn't he. He was falling for him, in more ways than one. He fisted his hands in Taehyung's shirt, held tight to his shoulders and licked at his lips.

“I want you.”

~

~

Taehyung had believed that he was going to be alone for the rest of eternity. The thing with Sugar—Yoongi. Had been a fluke and it was never going to happen again and he was going to be alone forever—

“He wants to have dinner with you.”

Those words had changed everything. And so had Yoongi, sweet Yoongi, small and nervous and fierce, beautiful and strong, so strong. Taehyung had gleaned most of his story from Seokjin, who had looser lips than Namjoon if only out of love and concern for Yoongi's health and happiness, and when he'd learned it he committed it to memory: Yoongi was afraid of being abandoned, Yoongi was nervous about getting into another long-term relationship, and maybe starting at the top had been a bad idea.

So he dated him properly. They kissed, held hands, watched movies and Taehyung always said goodnight before things got too intense, because he wanted to pin Yoongi down and fuck him until he was wailing and that wouldn't be good for their relationship as a whole. He liked Yoongi a lot. He wanted to be with him in the best way possible.

So now, standing in his bedroom and gripping Yoongi's ass through his jeans and grinding against him, he could have cried when the older man held on to his shoulders and moaned into his mouth, _I want you,_ because it meant that Yoongi wanted this too, that the two of them were on the same page and they didn't just like one another as a Dom and a Sub but as people, as lovers.

“Yes,” he said, lifting Yoongi up from the floor and carrying him to his bed, laughing at his squeak and kissing away his pouting frown. “Ah hyung, you're so gorgeous.” Yoongi flushed with flattered discomfort ( _he's really bad at accepting compliments,_ Seokjin had warned once) and Taehyung kissed his cheeks, fingers working to get his shirt undone. Yoongi was just as pale and beautiful as he remembered, his nipples hard and the piercings through them small as he bent to tongue at one. The older man gasped and jerked up, one hand fisted in Taehyung's hair. Taehyung hissed, teeth gritted. It felt good.

“Hyung,” he said, getting onto his knees and looking up at Yoongi as he unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it out of the way, sliding his fingers up under the t-shirt he wore beneath. “Let me suck you.” He watched Yoongi's eyes roll closed, watched his head tip back and felt one hand tighten in his hair as Yoongi's thighs spread, his jeans loose enough to allow them wide enough for Taehyung to settle properly between them. Taehyung fought Yoongi's shirts up and over his head, and leaned to tease one nipple with his tongue while the other started to work on Yoongi's jeans.

He always wore these jeans when they went out on a casual date, these ripped jeans that showed his knees and thighs. Taehyung was almost positive Yoongi had no idea how attractive the rest of his body was, as he generally swamped himself in clothes and accessories—jackets, scarves, hats, that hid away his body shape. Taehyung hadn't been allowed to view his nude form since that first night at the club and now, now as he peeled away the denim and the pretty little briefs Yoongi wore beneath them, he drank in the vision and didn't care about Yoongi's embarrassed blush.

He was so beautiful. Thin and soft in all the right places, his legs slightly bowed, his right foot turned slightly inward. His fingers were thin and blunt, and his chest heaved when Taehyung pressed a kiss to the inside of one knee.

“Hold your dick for me, hyung,” Taehyung murmured, kissing his way up one pale thigh. Yoongi was already getting hard, his fingers clenched—one in the bedsheet, one at his belly, moving down. Taehyung leaned in and let the soft tip of Yoongi's cock slip and rub against his mouth and chin, making a soft sound and mouthing at the skin. He watched Yoongi get hard, watched his tip emerge, pink and slick, from his foreskin. It was so hot that he was uncut. Taehyung had only been with a few men, and all of them were circumcised, but Yoongi wasn't (neither was Taehyung) and it was just. Hotter, watching him get hard.

He licked at the soft skin and sighed, enjoying the way Yoongi's breath dragged in and his hand pulled at the blanket. He smelled and tasted clean, vaguely salty as Taehyung moved to take more of his cock into his mouth and bob his head, moaning in appreciation when Yoongi's hand rested on the back of his neck and traced fingers through his hair. Shit, he was so hot.

“Ah, ah—Taehyung, shit. Mm...” Yoongi's hips attempted to get up from the bed and Taehyung hummed, easing back to mouth at his tip, to tongue at the very sensitive crown.

“Hyung,” he said around the length half-in his mouth. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi groaned, his head dropping back and Taehyung felt him shift, felt him struggle up to one leg, the other still bent onto the bed. Taehyung did have to guide him into the first few thrusts, one hand on his thigh, the other cupping his ass to guide him forward. Again, again, again.

There was very little Taehyung liked more than giving head. And he was so very, very good at it. He had a lot of practice: been doing it since he was fifteen and discovered he was a little more into the salty hot dogs than the fish tacos.

If Yoongi's throaty groan was any indication, he was liking it too, as he moved as Taehyung directed, thrusting, one hand on the bed, the other on Taehyung's shoulder.

“Taehy—Tae, Taehyung _shit--_ ”

Taehyung moaned and swallowed once then pulled back enough that the rest of Yoongi's load spilled into his mouth, instead. He smirked, pushed Yoongi back to the bed and got up, rolling his body up, shoulders on the bed, back curved into Taehyung's belly.

He opened his mouth to let his fingers wet and sticky, and eased them between Yoongi's cheeks.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Yoongi groaned, closing his eyes and digging his nails into his thighs. “Oh fuck that's _nasty._ ” But his hands were coming up to claw his cheeks apart, and Taehyung's middle finger pushed in easily, slick with saliva and cum. The second went just as smoothly, and he sucked the rest of the mess from his mouth to let it drip from his tongue. The wet noise his fingers made as they moved in and out was just obscene.

“Oh, oh fu—yes oh _god,_ like that, fuck, more, Taehyung, _more._ ”

“Demanding,” Taehyung noted, and Yoongi bared his teeth. He looked like a heathen god, spread out beneath Taehyung, and once again he counted his blessings, that Yoongi had decided to go out to dinner with him, that they were so compatible. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want your _dick_ in my _mouth,_ ” Yoongi hissed, clenching down around Taehung's fingers.

“But what am I going to put in your ass then,” Taehyung asked, laughing as he let Yoongi down, reaching for his bedside table even as he spoke.

“Oh I'm sure you'll thi—think of something--” Yoongi squirmed at the change of position, whined when Taehyung moved away. “Tae _hyung._ ”

“Hold on,” he said, easing away and rifling for two things: one, a bottle of lubricant, and second, a—

“...Is that a glow-in-the-dark dildo, Kim Taehyung,”

“I have trouble finding things in the dark!”

And just like that, the two of them dissolved into helpless giggles, and Taehyung bent to kiss Yoongi's smile, laughing with him, biting at his nose when his laughter went on for too long. “Yah,” he complained. “Yah, it's not _that_ funny!”

“Yes it is,” Yoongi was nearly cackling, but the sound broke off into a gasping intake of breath when said glow-in-the-dark dildo started to slip between his cheeks, wet with lube and just hard enough to feel almost real. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, quit laughing,” Taehyung said, having to use both hands to guide and push the toy—slow and steady—inside of Yoongi, who gripped the bedspread and bared his teeth.

“Hurts?” he asked quietly.

“Notatall,” Yoongi hissed, gasping for air. “Fuck. Fuck don't _stop._ ”

Taehyung kept pushing. He pushed until the toy was buried all the way to it's balls and Yoongi was squirming, wiggling and making pretty little mewling noises he'd probably never admit to. He let Yoongi adjust, watched him move against the toy for a moment before he settled into the bed and groaned.

“Feels good?” Taehyung asked, and Yoongi nodded.

“Dick in my mouth'll feel better,” he said, and Taehyung bit his lip. What a fucking filthy mouth. He hadn't been able to experience it at the club, given the situation.

“You want my dick in your mouth?” he asked, letting Yoongi all the way down and taking sick pleasure in the way he cried out at the shift in position. “Want me to skull-fuck your pretty little face, hyung? God, I want to. I want to cum all over your beautiful mouth.”

“Do it,” Yoongi grinned, and Taehyung gripped his headboard, straddled over Yoongi's shoulders and used his free hand to slick the older man's lips with precum.

“Open up.”

Yoongi looked up at him. Their eyes met as Taehyung sank his dick into Yoongi's mouth and shit, _shit,_ had he ever been so fucking hard in his _life?_ No. The answer was no, and Yoongi just moaned as he pushed in, in, _in,_ past his gag reflex. He stayed there only a moment, balls-deep and then pulled back, unsurprised when Yoongi coughed, eyes red. Taehyung hesitated.

“Again,” Yoongi rasped, and who was Taehyung to deny him? He did as he was asked. Again, and again, until Yoongi's cheeks were blotchy pink and his eyes were red and wet, his lips swollen and his hips gyrating on the toy in his ass.

Taehyung had to pull out because otherwise he was gonna cum and he wouldn't be able to fuck Yoongi and that would be a goddamned travesty.

“God you're so good,” he hissed, and Yoongi coughed, chin slick with spit. “You're so gorgeous when you're wrecked,” he said, and Yoongi groaned, closed his eyes. “What do you want hyung, what do you want.”

“Want,” his voice was so torn, so rough. “Want you to fuck me, Taehyung, god, get this fuckin' toy outta me, get your dick in there instead,” he started to cough and Taehyung kissed his chest, licked gently at his nipples and reached down to fuck him with the dildo, slow and hard as he caught his breath and started to curse.

“Jesus fucking christ, stop—stop _teasing me,_ fuckin' get your dick in me, shit, you waiting for a fucking engraved invitation?!”

“Patience is a virtue, hyung,” Taehyung replied, smirking as he slicked his dick with his lubricant and moved between Yoongi's legs, easing out the toy.

“Not, no, hands and knees, fuck, lemme get up--”

...Just when Taehyung thought the night couldn't possibly get any fucking nastier. Yoongi dragged himself up onto his knees and dropped his chest to the bed, reaching back to hold his ass open. “You're a fucking slut, you know that,” Taehyung whispered, even as he rubbed the tip of his cock against the hole he'd just been abusing, the skin pink and raw. “So fucking ready for my dick...”

“Yeah,” Yoongi panted, grinning, his fingernails leaving little marks in his thighs. “So get in me already.”

Taehyung buried himself in one hard, smooth movement. Yoongi shouted, body kicking forward but Taehyung followed him down, straddled over his thighs as he squirmed on the bed, wiggling and pulling at the blankets. “Oh fuck,” he was panting, trying to buck back, unable to hold still. “Oh fuck yeah, shit, feels so fuckin' good.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung breathed, kissing Yoongi's shoulder, and reaching for the toy that had just been buried in his ass, bringing it to his own lips to suck with a soft sound. He fucked his mouth with it until Yoongi whined, fingers clawing into Taehyung's thighs instead.

“Give me, give it to me, Taehyung, ah--” Taehyung eased the toy into Yoongi's mouth, listened to him slurp and suck as he thrust it in and out, enjoying his garbled words as he fucked his hips down, slow and timely until Yoongi started to choke, coughing and crying.

Taehyung threw the toy off the bed and kissed Yoongi's lips, thrust against him shallowly as he licked away the taste of cum and lube, finally getting up onto his knees and pulling Yoongi up with him.

“Oh fuck,” Yoongi whispered, hair sticking to his forehead. “Ohsofuckin'deep.”

“Still good, hyung,” Taehyung asked, and Yoongi nodded, almost frantic, and Taehyung started to thrust.

It didn't last as long as he wanted.

Yoongi reached down between his own legs to stroke himself off and Taehyung reached to assist him, licking at his back and enjoying the way Yoongi shivered violently whenever his teeth hit the right spot, just off the spine. “Fuck, fuck Taehyung fuck I can't I'm gonna fuckin--”

Yoongi came and Taehyung had to pull out, because that tight squeeze was gonna make him blow his load and he didn't want that, not yet, not fucking _yet._ But Yoongi whined in displeasure and Taehyung pushed back in, groaning at the heat, the warm, wet clench.

His fingers came up to his lips so he could suck them clean and Yoongi grunted.

“What,” Taehyung asked, offering his fingers to Yoongi, very pleased when he sullenly licked at them like a displeased cat. “What's wrong, kitten.” Yoongi wiggled and Taehyung pushed his hips forward, enjoying his sudden shout. “I asked you what's wrong.”

“Cum in my mouth,” Yoongi said, demanded, squeezing around Taehyung's dick so hard it felt like a fucking vice. “I want you to blow in my mouth.”

“Kitten wants milk?” Taehyung asked, and Yoongi slapped his thigh, but didn't protest. _Oh,_ he thought to himself, pulling out and hissing in displeasure, jerking Yoongi onto his back. “Get it yourself, kitten. If you're hungry, feed yourself.”

Yoongi's eyes were dark and narrow and Taehyung braced his arms on the headboard and just watched as Yoongi took the tip of his cock into his mouth and sucked, one hand jerking at Taehyung's length while the other worked between his own legs. It was the complete vision—Yoongi playing with himself while sucking, the soft little sounds he made and the way he wiggled like he still wanted something in his slut-ass—that made Taehyung cum, and he grunted, determined to watch as Yoongi opened his mouth. Taehyung blew his load all over Yoongi's lips, tongue and cheek, watched as Yoongi used his cock to clean up what little mess there was before sucking it back into his throat and shit, _shit_ that was so fucking hot, Yoongi was so hot, he couldn't believe it, he was so fucking lucky.

He got down and kissed Yoongi savagely, hands fisted in his hair and Yoongi whimpered:

all it took was that sound for Taehyung to gentle his hands.

~

“Hyung,” Taehyung asked, the two of them laying in his bed, clean and still a bit damp from the shower they'd just spent the last hour in, cracking vile jokes and snapping one another's asses with wet washcloths. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Just one?” Yoongi asked from where he laid, one arm folded under his head.

“Okay, maybe more than one,” Taehyung replied, and Yoongi nodded.

“Sure.”

“So you... Do you want to be... In a more... Permanent relationship with me?” It was a nervewracking question to ask. Taehyung knew Yoongi had a bad history, he knew Yoongi knew the same about him, but god he made him want to try, he wanted to _try._

There was silence for so long Taehyung was sure he was being rejected.

“...I'd really like that, Taehyung,” Yoongi said, and Taehyung could have rocketed out into the stars for all the joy that burst inside of him. He settled instead for just smothering Yoongi with kisses despite his squawking protests, because eventually they turned into quiet chuckles, and then soft, sweet kisses themselves.

~

When Taehyung finally opened up about Jaehoon almost six months later, he didn't expect Yoongi to react with so much compassion. He knew Yoongi _knew,_ because he'd told him, but it was so different to try and explain exactly what Jaehoon wanted from him, _why_ Taehyung couldn't give it.

Taehyung didn't like talking about his life. It sounded so much like some cheap sob story, that he'd grown up with his grandparents in Daegu because his parents thought he was too much to handle, that he'd been in terrible relationships until he was almost twenty and then he'd entered the BDSM community where all of his genius meant absolutely nothing because he had no idea what he was doing. And then Jaehoon.

“He wanted me to _beat_ him, hyung,” Taehyung was saying, wiping at one eye, staring down at the glass he held in his hands over his crossed legs. “He wanted me to—to treat him badly, _on purpose._ I can't—of course I can't do that, that's... That's _abuse._ ”

Taehyung knew it wasn't, not really, not if Jaehoon had wanted it and consented to it but Taehyung could not, and would not, consent to _doing_ it. Not ever. He'd only ever been hit a few times in his life, but the experiences still tainted his memory and there was no way he could reach out—on purpose—and hurt someone just because... Because.

“Taehyungah,” Yoongi said, sitting beside him, tucked in close. “It sounds like... You weren't really compatible. It's okay, that you didn't want to. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Taehyung nodded, sniffling a little and feeling very pathetic. “But it still feels really bad. I wanted him to stay with me, hyung,” he whispered. “I wanted to live the rest of my life with him.”

“And it felt like it was over, when he left.”

“...Yes.”

Taehyung leaned into Yoongi, reached to hold his hand.

“But. It's okay. I have you. You're a lot better.”

“Am I,” Yoongi asked, and Taehyung could hear the tickles of smile in his voice.

“Yes. Much better. Nicer, softer, better in bed. Definitely better in the kitchen and like, planning and stuff, wow. It's a miracle I ever got anything done.”

“Ah, I see, so you're just dating me for my incredible organizational skills,” and Taehyung laughed, turning to bury his face into Yoongi's newly-pink hair, humming contentedly.

“That's right. It has nothing to do with the fact that I'm in love with you.”

“Absolutely none.”

“Nope.”

The two of them stayed on the couch and Yoongi held Taehyung's hand and Taehyung laced their fingers together. The two of them wore matching bracelets on their right wrists, locked tight, and their lips traced the metal as they kissed, lips and fingers and palms pressed together.

“I love you too, you know,” Yoongi whispered, and Taehyung nodded.

“I know you do... And, and thanks, hyung,”

“What for?”

“For letting me take care of you.”

Yoongi flushed and looked away, but Taehyung kissed his cheek. It was his pleasure, his _honor,_ to take care of Min Yoongi, even as Min Yoongi took care of him, too. He'd promised. He'd promised he'd take care of him in any way he could, any way he was allowed, and Yoongi let him do that. It was an incredible expression of trust and love and he loved him. Loved him so much. So much it hurt sometimes, like when Yoongi stared too long at a Christmas display in a store, or when he violently protested the idea of going outside in the snow, when he refused to talk unless Taehyung used the Voice and called him _Sugar_ and demanded his obedience, because sometimes it was the only way he could get Yoongi to talk about what was wrong.

At least he could. They could. And would. They were a team.

“Come on,” he said gently, setting aside his glass. “We should go to bed. S'late, n'they're gonna be here in the morning,” Taehyung laughed as Yoongi groaned but got up.

“I don't see why they always have to visit in the morning.”

“Because they're morning people.”

“Namjoon doesn't count as a _morning person,_ he's only a morning person because he doesn't go to bed, and I think that's cheating.”

“Probably,” Taehyung laughed, and held Yoongi's hand all the way down to their bedroom.

Once the two of them were tucked into bed, the cats settled obnoxiously between them, Taehyung leaned in and kissed Yoongi's cheek. “Love you.”

He was starting to fall asleep, breath even, when he heard Yoongi whisper, soft as snow, _I love you more._ Taehyung wasn't sure which of them had saved the other, but he was glad it happened anyway. He was glad he'd seen that sign, seen Namjoon, glad he'd decided to go out that night and say _yes_ when Namjoon said Yoongi wanted to go out to dinner with him, just to see if they were compatible.

And Yoongi?

Yoongi laid contentedly, quietly, and basked in the soft glow of loving, and being loved in return. He'd missed it. He was glad to be home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> it got awkward around the POV change, sorry about that guys. taehyung had something to say but couldn't keep it consistent.


End file.
